Before actually commencing the shopping, I went for a short, fast drive. I did my usual out-and-back, turning around at [the site of the holy date with the pink thing]. I was listening to the Dodgeball mix, and this song was the one with which I yelled most of the way:

bow down before the one you serveyou're going to get what you deserve...

god money i'll do anything for yougod money just tell me what you want me togod money nail me up against the wallgod money don't want everything he wants it all

no, you can't take itno, you can't take itno, you can't take that away from me...

head like a holeblack as your souli'd rather diethan give you control...

bow down before the one you serveyou're going to get what you deserve...

god money's not looking for the curegod money's not concerned about the sick among the puregod money let's go dancing on the backs of the bruisedgod money's not one to choose...

I did my shopping with that throbbing through my head. It made for a quick trip. I think I was actually in the store for 10 minutes. $3/minute isn't too bad.

What the hell?

Anyway. I zipped out of the parking lot and promptly creamed a bug on the windshield. Smeared it around with the wipers because my attention was on my A/C, temperature, and window controls. (I was shooting for clear windows, see, and in a Honda...never mind.) So I nearly plotzed a big fucking motorcycle at the intersection by the lib. If I'd hit it, I'd have smooshed it (and its two riders) into the back end of a county sheriff's car. Oops.

The oblivious motorcyclists were out of my way in a trice, leaving me directly behind the sheriff. Speed limit for the first mile or so: 25 mph. We increased speed (I remained exactly 2 car-lengths behind him the entire time) in 5 mph per 2 block range. By the time we hit the 35 mph area, we were going about 60. It was great fun, 'cause, what could the fuckhead possibly say to me?

"You were speeding, Miss."

"Well, yeah, but so were you. I was about to make a citizen's arrest. So mmmlllenhhh!"

Unfortunately, he decided to turn onto my favorite late-night driving street. I altered my plan slightly, and went straight. Before he turned, I was stopped at a light next to him, Limp Bizkit's "Break Stuff" throbbing from my speakers at only a thousand decibels. [Note: I sound much less ridiculous singing "bullshit" than I do "motherfucker." Just thought I'd update that little query.] But hey, do I really look like the type of person who would play expletive-laden music that loudly? No, I don't. He could see my torso, so here's what he saw: high ponytail, gathered by a scrunchie. Blue eyes opened so big and round that I looked like a doe. No makeup. Blue and white linen blouse. Here's what he didn't see: jeans with 5" gash across the butt, pond-dirty Birkies. And, of course, the jewel case to the Dodgeball mix open in the dash slot. Tee hee.

I went straight for about 1/2 mile, then turned around and went the way I'd originally intended. I like to 'give the car her legs' every now and then, so I got it up to 85 before needing to slow down for the lame dude in front of me who was only going 65. (Speed limit = 55 mph.) I made the usual circuit around the north side of town, then back in, past the car wash, the "live bait" machine, and Towne Square. Past the lib. Past the gaggle of Mexican folk who sit on their stoop and leer at any female or nice car that passes by.

Came home. Talked with DJN about today's gossip (a ring!, a trip Down Under, a stupid girl who quit, people performing duties that they're paid too much to perform, a BTE concert in Rkfd in September!, and my Beauty.) Put away the groceries. Loaded some photos. And here I am.

Among the photos is this one, showing Tuesday's fantastic dinner of cheese toast with tomato basil sauce and a Coke. When I was little, I didn't like cheese. Over time, I developed a taste for Velveeta (the world's best grilled cheese sandwiches!), Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, and Cheez Whiz. Can you tell I grew up in the Midwest? Eventually, I branched out and began experimenting with Parmesan cheese on my butter & garlic pasta, and then I made the true leap: mozzarella. I'm still not fond of it in the cold, unmelted form, but I could eat it melted all day long. Hence the cheese toast, which has butter & garlic beneath the shredded mozzarella on top.

I had friends over on Monday, and we had lasagna and French bread. The cheese toast was made with some of the remaining bread and dipped in some of the remaining sauce.

I got home from work pretty close to on-time today, but I had an unexpected guest, so I didn't eat dinner until about 8:PM. I had grand plans of Making Something, but who wants to stand in front of the stove when there are books to be read? Therefore.... Please note that there are 6 pieces of toast this time, while there were only 5 the last time; I was still a little hungry on Tuesday after snarfing the 5.

I love cheese toast. With tomato basil sauce. And Coke.

Dinner of champions.

Prehaps tomorrow I'll have that ham omelette, or the dirty rice, or corn & oat pancakes with snausage.

But there's more French bread, cheese, and tomato basil sauce, so it's entirely possible that I'm in a delicious, salty rut.

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